Читать книгу Kindest Regards - Ted Kooser - Страница 38

At Nightfall

In feathers the color of dusk, a swallow,

up under the shadowy eaves of the barn,

weaves now, with skillful beak and chitter,

one bright white feather into her nest

to guide her flight home in the darkness.

It has taken a hundred thousand years

for a bird to learn this one trick with a feather,

a simple thing. And the world is alive

with such innocent progress. But to what

safe place shall any of us return

in the last smoky nightfall,

when we in our madness have put the torch

to the hope in every nest and feather?